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Successful Rural Plays 

A Strong List From Which to Select Your 
Next Play 

FARM FOLKS. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur 
Lewis Tubbs. For five male and six female characters. Time 
of playing, two hours and a half. One simple exterior, two 
easy interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Flora Goodwin, a 
farmer's daughter, is engaged to Philip Burleigh, a young New 
Yorker. Philip's mother wants him to marry a society woman, 
and by falsehoods makes Flora believe Philip does not love her. 
Dave Weston, who wants Flora himself, helps the deception by 
intercepting a letter from Philip to Flora. She agrees to marry 
Dave, but on the eve of their marriage Dave confesses, Philip 
learns the truth, and he and Flora are reunited. It is a simple 
plot, but full of speeches and situations that sway an audience 
alternately to tears and to laughter. 

. HOME TIES. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur 
Lewis Tubbs. Characters, four male, five female. Plays two 
hours and a half. Scene, a simple interior — same for all four 
acts. Costumes, modern. One of the strongest plays Mr. Tubbs 
has written. Martin Winn's wife left him when his daughter 
Ruth was a baby. Harold Vincent, the nephew and adopted son 
of the man who has wronged Martin, makes love to Ruth Winn. 
She is also loved by Len Everett, a prosperous young farmer. 
When Martin discovers who Harold is, he orders him to leave 
Ruth. Harold, who does not love sincerely, yields. Ruth dis- 
covers she loves Len, but thinks she has lost him also. Then 
he comes back, and Ruth finds her happiness. 

THE OLD NEW HAMPSHIRE HOME. A New 

England Drama in Three Acts, by Frank Dumont. For seven 
males and four females. Time, two hours and a half. . Costumes, 
modern. A play with a strong heart interest and pathos, yet rich 
in humor. Easy to act and very effective. A rural drama of 
the "Old Homstead" and "Way Down East" type. Two ex- 
terior scenes, one interior, all easy to set. ' Full of strong sit- 
uations and delightfully humorous passages. The kind of a play 
everybody understands and likes. 

THE OLD DAIRY HOMESTEAD. A Rural Comedy 
in Three^ Acts, by Frank Dumont. For five males and four 
females. * Time, two hours. Rural costumes. Scenes rural ex- 
terior and interior. An adventurer obtains a large sum of money 
from a farm house through the intimidation of the farmer's 
niece, whose husband he claims to be. Her escapes from the 
wiles of the villain and his female accomplice are both starting 
and novel. 

A WHITE MOUNTAIN BOY. A Strong Melodrama in 
Five Acts, by Charles Townsend. For seven males and four 
females, and three supers. Time, two hours and twenty minutes. 
One exterior, three interiors. Costumes easy. The hero, a 
country lad, twice saves the life of a banker's daughter, which 
results in their betrothal. A scoundrelly clerk has the banker 
in his power, but the White Mountain boy finds a way to check- 
mate his schemes, saves the banker, and wins the girl. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



You Know? I Know. Shake! 



A Farce in One Act 



By 
VANCE C. CRISS 




PHILADELPHIA 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1922 






Copyright 1922 by The Penn Publishing Company 



©CI.D 60077 

You Know? I Know. Sha££g 24 1922 



[ 



You Know? I Know. Shake! 



CHARACTERS 



Ned Newcome, 

who desires to keep his recent marriage a secret 
from his wealthy uncle 
Alice Newcome, 

his wife, who desires to keep her recent marriage 
a secret from her wealthy aunt 
John Perkins.. the uncle, who arrives unexpectedly 
Abigail Walton the aunt, who isn't far behind 

Time of Playing. — Half an hour. 



STORY OF THE PLAY 

A young artist with aVrich uncle marries a young 
girl with a rich aunt. They keep both of the old people 
ignorant of the fact, fearing that their allowances may 
be cut off. Then word is received from the uncle that 
he is coming to call on his nephew. The same day 
the aunt informs her niece that she is coming to see 
her. In order to deceive them the wife poses as her 
husband's model and the husband poses as his wife's 
butler, but finally all turns out well and the aunt and 
uncle shake hands. The play is full of action and 
lively dialogue. 

Time. — The present. 

Place. — The Newcome apartment. 



You Know? I Know. Shake ! 



SCENE. — A living-room. There are two doors, one, 
at the right, opening into the hall, and one, at the 
left, leading to the other rooms of the apartment. 
There is a settee down-stage right, an arm chair 
down-stage left, and, just to the right of this, a 
small reading table. Upstage, may be placed a piano, 
book shelves, etc. Upon the wall, at left, is a tele- 
phone, with a speaking tube near by. A lay-figure 
stands just upstage from the door at the right. 

(As the curtain rises, Ned, on the settee, is engrossed 
in a newspaper. Alice enters at l., halting just 
inside the door.) 

Alice. I'm making beaten biscuits for lunch. How 
do you like them? 

Ned (behind his paper). So they can be eaten. 

Alice. I like that. (Goes to chair and sits.) If 
we hadn't been married almost a month, I'd be angry. 

Ned (laying aside paper and smiling). Since you 
feel that way about it, I'll say that I like beaten bis- 
cuits any way you cook them. (Picks up paper.) I 
was just noticing, in the stock market quotations, that 
Western Consolidated has advanced another five 
points. It's too bad Uncle John isn't here to tell some 
of his cronies, " I told you so." 

Alice. I'm not a bit sorry he isn't here. The last 
thing he told you before he left was that he'd find a 
wife for you as soon as he got back, and you know very 
well what he'll say when he finds you and T arc mar- 
ried. I hope he stays in South America forever. 

Ned. You're no better pleased over his absence 



6 YOU KNOW ? I KNOW. SHAKE ! 

than I am over your sharp-tongued old aunt's being in 
California. When she does learn you're my wife, her 
language may not be as strong as Uncle John's— but 
it'll be just as much to the point. 

Alice. Thank goodness, we don't need to worry. 
Your uncle has no way of finding out about our mar- 
riage, and as long as I'm receiving mail in my former 
name at the old address, Aunt Abigail won't learn any- 
thing. (Crosses to Ned, and seats herself on left arm 
of settee.) Do you know, dear, I wish you wouldn't be 
quite so friendly with that model — the pretty one, I 
mean. I know you don't mean anything, but she's apt 
to presume. And I just can't keep from thinking a 
model is a detestable creature. 

Ned. You shouldn't feel that way, honey. The 
girl is really deserving, and an artist has to have a 
model. (Telephone bell rings.) 

Alice. I'll answer it. (Crosses to 'phone and 
places receiver at ear.) Hello. — Yes. — Yes, he's here. 
I'll call him. (Turns toward Ned, with receiver still 
at her ear, but turns again to transmitter.) What? — 
No, I'm not the janitor's wife. (Holding out receiver, 
she faces Ned.) The insulting wretch. He wanted 
to know if I was the janitor's wife. Come and talk 
to him. 

Ned. Good Lord! That sounds like Uncle John. 
(Goes to 'phone.) Hello. — Yes. (Places hand over 
transmitter, and turns to Alice, who is standing 
at his right.) It is. It's Uncle John. (Again 
talking over 'phone.) Yes, yes, I heard you. — 
Who was what woman? — Oh, you mean the one 
who answered the 'phone ? — Certainly I'll tell you who 
she is. — Why don't I? — She is — she is — (As if by in- 
spiration.) one of my models. (Alice silently ex- 
presses her indignation.) You're at the hotel? — 
You're coming right out?- — Oh, you needn't bother. 
I'll be right down, and we can lunch together at the 
hotel. — Of course you'll be welcome. — Sure. Come 
ahead. — Good-bye. (Hangs up receiver and turns de- 
jectedly to Alice.) We're lost. Uncle John's coming 



YOU KNOW? I KNOW. SHAKE ! 7 

right out. He'll be here in less than three minutes. 
What on earth can we do? If he finds a woman mak- 
ing her home here, the lawyers won't find my name in 
his will. 

Alice. You needn't think I'm going to move out, 
just because of your cranky old uncle. (Crosses to 
settee and sits.) This is my home, and I'm going to 
stay here. (Begins to sob.) 

Ned (crosses to settee, sits left of Alice, and puis 
arm about her shoulders). You'll do that for my sake, 
won't you? And there's no telling what Uncle John 
will say or do, if he finds out. 

Alice. I don't care; I'm going to stay. When I 
married you, I never thought you'd let me be insulted 
this way by a crabbed old uncle — even if he is rich. 

Ned. But he hasn't insulted you yet, and that's 
what I'm trying to prevent. You won't mind leaving 
for just a little while, will you? 

Alice (stamping her foot). I won't budge an inch. 

Ned (dejectedly). All right, then. There's just 
one way out of it. I told Uncle John over the 'phone 
that you were a model, and you'll have to be a model 
while he's here. 

Alice (indignantly). I won't be a model. You 
know what I think of models, and you know what your 
odious old uncle thought, when you told him I was a 
model. I won't be a model. 

Ned (pleadingly) . Won't you, honey, just for a lit- 
tle while? If your aunt came, I'd be anything or do 
anything, if it would help you out. 

Alice (brightening). Would you, honestly? 

Ned (eagerly). Sure. You just send for her, and 
see. 

Alice. For your sake, dear, I'll do it. 

Ned (in alarm). You don't mean you'll send for 
her, just to try me? 

Alice. Of course not, goose. I mean I'll be a 
model. (There is a knock of the door, r.) 

Ned. There he is. (Rises.) 

Alice (rises excitedly). What shall I do? 



8 YOU KNOW ? I KNOW. SHAKE ! 

Ned (pushes her to l.). Anything except act like 
my wife. Leave the rest to me. 

(Goes to door and opens it.) 

Uncle John (enters, carrying light overcoat over 
left arm and hat in left hand). Hello, my boy. How 
are you? (He and Ned shake hands.) 

Ned. Let me take your coat and hat. 

Uncle John. Just the coat. (Hands coat to him. 
Notices Ned's dejection as he hangs coat on costumer 
and crosses to c.) Thunderation ! What's the mat- 
ter? I thought you'd be glad to see your old uncle, 
and you stand there like a hired mourner at a funeral. 
(Notices Alice, who stands at l.) Oh ho, I see now. 
Evidently I interrupted a tete-a-tete with the pretty 
model. (Crosses to Alice.) By Jove, he's a lucky 
dog. (Chucks her under the chin. She smiles, and 
Ned glares indignantly at him. Uncle John then 
turns to Ned, who tries to look pleasant, while Alice, 
in her turn, glares.) Better be careful, my boy. I've 
come back to find a wife for you, and if you get too 
interested in a model, the woman I select may not be 
much interested in you. 

Ned (weakly). Uncle John, don't you think I 
might like to have a little something to say about 
choosing my wife ? 

Uncle John. Shucks, no. You never did have 
any judgment in anything like that. (Alice is more 
indignant than ever, and Ned has difficulty in conceal- 
ing his displeasure.) By the way, (Looks at watch.) 
I have a business engagement that will take a few 
minutes. I'll go attend to that and return for you. 
Then we'll go out to lunch together. 

Ned. But you must take lunch here. 

Uncle John (surprised). Take lunch here ! Great 
guns, man, you're no cook, and I couldn't boil water. 
I want something to eat. 

Ned. Yes, but my w 

Alice. Ahem. 

Ned. My — my model is a very good cook, and often 
prepares meals for me here. 



YOU KNOW ? I KNOW. SHAKE ! 9 

Uncle John. Great mackerel ! This is getting se- 
rious. The first thing you know, you'll play the fool 
and marry this model — and that means not one cent 
from me. This thing's got to stop. I'm going now, 
but I'll have some more to say when I get back. 

{Jams hat on and exits R., slamming door behind him.) 

Alice {sinks into chair). Thank heaven, he's gone. 

Ned (sinks upon settee). Yes, he's gone; but w T hat 
he has said won't be a circumstance to what he will 
say. There's only one thing to do, and that's to get rid 
of him — but I don't know how we're going to do it. 

Alice. I'll tell you. Couldn't you pretend to have 
smallpox, or something like that? He wouldn't stay 
here then. 

Ned. No, and neither would I — after some one 
around here tore up a telephone getting the city health 
department. We'll have to find some other way. 

(There is a whistle at the speaking tube. Alice an- 
swers. ) 

Alice. Hello. — Oh. — (Acts as if about to fall.) 
Y-e-s, come right up. (Turns to Ned.) Now we are 
lost. That was Aunt Abigail. 

(Returns to chair and sinks dejectedly.) 

Ned (rises) i And when she and Uncle John meet, 
heaven help us. 

Alice. They mustn't meet. We've got to prevent 
it. 

Ned. We'd better find out first how you're going 
to explain me. 

Alice (suddenly). I'll tell you. You be the butler. 

Ned (indignantly). I'll not be a confounded serv- 
ant. 

Alice. You said you would — and you've got to. 

(Door at r. opens and Aunt Abigail enters. Sees 
Alice, who has risen, drops hand-bag on floor, 

rushes to her and embraces her.) 



10 YOU KNOW ? I KNOW. SHAKE ! 

Aunt Abigail. My dear, I had a terrible time with 
the janitor. . You should see that he is discharged at 
once. He insisted there was no Miss Westcott in the 
building. You see, I went to your old apartment first, 
and learned you had moved here. 

Alice {nervously glancing at Ned, who has re- 
treated upstage r.). Let me help you off with your 
coat, Aunt Abigail. 

Aunt Abigail {removes hat and coat). To be 
sure. (Alice places hat and cloak on table.) Since 
I'm going to remain some time, I may as well make 
myself at home. {Glances around, and sees Ned.) 
Who is that person? You, unchaperoned, allowing a 
gentleman 

Alice {trying to appear amused). But he isn't a 
gentleman. 

(Ned starts to protest, but is motioned to silence by 

Alice. ) 

Aunt Abigail {weakly). Not a gentleman? 
That's even 

Alice. It's all right, Aunt Abigail ; he's the butler. 

Aunt Abigail. The butler! How — how— dread- 
ful ! So this is where your new-fangled ideas are lead- 
ing you ? 

Alice {relieved). Yes, that's all it is. Modern 
woman is emancipated. 

Aunt Abigail. Emancipated? Pooh! Do you- 
call it emancipation to degrade yourself to the level of 
a man? {Notices pipe upon table.) Whose pipe is 
that? 

Alice. Oh, that belongs to my h 

Ned. Ahem. 

Alice. To my butler. 

Aunt Abigail. Well, of all things. The very idea 
of permitting the servants such liberty. I consider it 
very fortunate that I came at such an opportune time. 
{Notices coat on costumer.) Whose coat is that? 

Alice. That belongs to my — my butler's uncle. 

Aunt Abigail. Why don't you turn over the en- 



YOU KNOW? I KNOW. SHAKE.' II 

tire place to your butler and his relatives? {Surveys 
Ned.) I have no doubt from his appearance that he 
has a plentiful supply. 

Ned {angrily). Madam, I assure 

Aunt Abigail. That will do. If my niece has 
permitted you some foolish liberties, you may rest as- 
sured that you will keep your place while I am here. 

Ned. By George 

Aunt Abigail. Sir ! 

Alice {nervously). Aunt Abigail, hadn't I better 
show you to your room ? Probably you'll want to rest 
a few minutes before lunch. 

Aunt Abigail. Certainly, my dear. (Ned picks 
up hand-bag.) I'll take that. {Relieves Ned of hand- 
bag and follows Alice to door, l., where she pauses.) 
You must dismiss that insolent servant. His mere 
presence annoys me. 

{Exits, l., after Alice.) 

Ned {dejectedly). Heavens and earth! If she 
would fire me as a butler, what wouldn't she do to me 
if she knew I was Alice's husband ? 

(Crosses to chair, l., and sits.) 

Alice (enters l. and goes at once to left of Ned). 
What are we going to do ? 

Ned (angrily). There's only one thing left — kill 
Uncle John, cut Aunt Abigail's throat, and then tele- 
phone the police. 

Alice. You mustn't feel that way. Everything 
will come out all right in the end. 

Ned. Yes, there's lots of consolation in looking for 
mercy, after we're both dead. 

Alice (seats herself on left arm of chair and puts 
her arm about Ned's shoidders). Please don't talk- 
that way, dear. It makes me nervous. 

Ned. If my talk has that effect on you, think what 
effect your beloved aunt's talk must have on me. 

Alice. But that isn't helping us out of our pre- 
dicament. Can't you suggest something? 



12 YOU KNOW? I KNOW. SHAKE i, 

Aunt Abigail (enters l.). My dear, I forgot to 

ask you (Sees Alice hurriedly rise from chair 

and step l. ) Oh ! Oh ! Can I believe my eyes ! 
(Crosses to c, then tarns upon Alice.) What has 
caused you to lose your reason, your modesty? Are 
you dead to all sense of shame? Such dreadful con- 
duct — and with a mere servant. Oh ! Oh ! Would 
that I had died before witnessing the disgrace of my 
nearest and dearest relative. 

Alice (nervously) . Aunt Abigail, you must let me 
explain. 

Aunt Abigail. Explain ! Explain ! How can you 
explain, when I have seen with my own eyes ? 

Ned (rises and strides r.). Confound such a med- 
dling old 

Alice (in alarm) . Sir! 

Aunt Abigail. What did you say ? 

Ned (at r., suddenly realises, and faces the aunt). 
I said she had been very good to me. And it hasn't 
been altogether without reason, either. Didn't I save 
her life? 

Alice (excitedly). Yes, he saved my life, Aunt 
Abigail. Didn't I tell you about it? And that's the 
reason I employed him as a butler. And he's had so 
much trouble lately. You see, his mother died, and 
his father died, — -and — and his wife died, too. 

Aunt Abigail (somewhat mollified). I suppose you 
really should be kind to the fellow — but I can't see 
why you should act so shamelessly as to suggest that 
you'd like to be the second wife — or the third one, for 
all I know. (Becomes angry again.) And I must say 
that the more I look at him, the more surprised I am 
at your conduct. His face is the very picture of a 
gallows thief. 

Ned (angrily). Confound- 

Aunt Abigail (icily). You will speak only when 
spoken to. (To Alice.) I presume, in view of your 
conduct, I should remain here as a chaperone, but I 
must £-0 to my room a few minutes, at least, to recover 
from the shock, or I shall faint. (Exits l.) 



YOU KNOW ? I KNOW. SHAKE ! tj 

(Alice sinks into chair and begins to sob, Ned 
crosses l. and seats himself on right arm of chair, 
putting his arm about Alice's shoulders.) 

Ned. Don't feel that way about it, honey. We'll 
come out all right in the end. 

Alice (sobbingly). Yes — but you said — there 
wasn't any reason — to hope. 

Ned (consolingly). But I didn't mean that. Just 
be brave, and we'll get out somehow. 

Alice. I'll have to explain — or Aunt Abigail — will 
think — I'm lost. 

Ned (excitedly) . Merciful heavens ! Don't do that 
now. Her nerves aren't in any condition for a shock 
like that. 

Uncle John (enters r., hangs hat on costumer and 
advances to c, where, seeing Ned and Alice, he pauses 
amazed). Well! (Ned rises and retreats up-stage l. 
Alice rises and retreats l.) This is going too far. 
I'm not going to stand for any monkey business like 
this. 

Ned (points to wife, who is sobbing). Surely, 
Uncle John, you don't blame me for 

Uncle John (storming) . Oh, no, of course I don't 
blame you, you young idiot. Don't you know the wiles 
of creatures like her? They can spot a sucker as far 
as they can see him. Then a few tears and he's 
hooked — absolutely hooked. You've got to get rid of 
this young woman, and in a hurry, too. I'm going to 
see that you don't get caught by any such creature as 
she is. (Points to Alice.) 

Ned. Uncle John, I won't stand 

Uncle John. Then, by thunder, you can sit. I'm 
running this job. (Sees bonnet and cloak on tabic. 
Turns to Alice.) Young woman, there are your 
wraps. Get 'em on in a hurry and get out. 

Alice (sobbing). They're — they're not mine. 

Uncle John (turns fiercely on Ned). Sir, explain 
immediately. Is there another woman here? 

Ned (nervously) . Yes, sir. Those wraps belong to 
my — my model's aunt. 



14 YOU KNOW ? I KNOW. SHAKE ! 

Uncle John (again storming). Great Caesar's 
ghost! Do you think we're running a home for the 
dependent relatives of designing women ? 

Alice. I'm going home. I won't be insulted in 
this way — (To Ned.) and in your presence, too. 

(Rushes out door, l.) 

Ned. Now see what you've done. I'll have a nice 
time persuading her to stay, won't I ? 

(Rushes out in pursuit of wife.) 

Uncle John. By Jove, I'll go offer her a little more 
comfort. (Rushes to door, l., and halts.) No, I 
won't. The more I say now, the more apt that young 
fool is to marry that little whipper-snapper. (Strides 
angrily across to R.) It's a good thing I came when I 
did. A week more and she would have had him. 

Aunt Abigail (enters l., and pauses). Look here, 
fellow, what have you done to cause my niece so much 
anguish ? 

Uncle John. Say, who are you? But you needn't 
answer. You're the aunt of that creature. 

Aunt Abigail (advances to a). How dare you? 
But you needn't offer any explanation. Your face 
bears very plainly the marks of your low origin. 

Uncle John (advances toward Aunt Abigail). 
Look here, old woman, I'll not see my nephew caught 
in any of your blackmailing schemes. Now get out of 
here in a hurry, or I'll call the police. 

Aunt Abigail (in a frenzy). Old woman! Old 
woman! You'll — you'll call the police! How dare 
you order me out, you ill-mannered, low-born, despi- 
cable wretch, you. (Crosses to chair and seats herself. 
Points to door, r.) There's the door, fellow. Now 
go. 

Uncle John (surveys her in amazement). Well, 
I'll be hanged. (Angrily.) You screeching old 
hussy, I'll stay here as long as I please. 

(Uncle John takes out cigar, lights it, and begins to 
puff vigorously, all his movements betraying anger. , 



YOU KNOW? I KNOW. SHAKE ! 15 

He walks back and forth, making a pretense of hum- 
ming a tune. After he has walked across the room 
once or twice, Aunt Abigail begins to cough. He 
looks at her with an expression of malignant satis- 
faction.) 

Aunt Abigail. You contemptible wretch — 
{Coughs.) how dare you smoke — {Coughs.) in the 
presence of a lady? {Coughs.) 

Uncle John. Old woman — {Puffs.) I never 
smoke in the presence — {Puffs.) of a lady. {Puffs.) 

Aunt Abigail {distractedly) . Oh, I shall faint. I 
know I shall. 

(Ned and Alice enter l., and cross to up-stag e c, Ned 

at l., Alice at r. Uncle John advances to down- 

stage r.) 

Uncle John {to Ned). Look here, you worthless 
young reprobate, if you ever expect the slightest favor 
from me, you send that young hussy {Points to 
Alice.) and that she-devil {Points to Aunt.) out of 
this house at once. 

Aunt Abigail (to Alice). Young lady, unless 
you expect to be disowned this minute, you get rid of 
that miscreant gawking there by you and that peni- 
tentiary-faced old weasel over there. 

(Points to Uncle John.) 

Uncle John (to Ned). You conscienceless scape- 
grace, I believe you're in love with that — that — person 
there by you. 

Ned (nervously). Why, Uncle John, how — how 
foolish. You should see the young lady in whom I'm 
— I'm — slightly interested. 

Alice. Oh ! 

Uncle John (to Alice). Ah, I see. I'm not sur- 
prised to see you jealous at losing such a good thing. 

Aunt Abigail. Niece, can it be possible that you 
have so far forgotten yourself as to fall in love with 
that unmentionable person? (Points to Ned.) 

Alice. Why, Aunt Abigail ! You know I wouldn't 
do that. Didn't I tell you in my last letter about the 



l6 YOU KNOW ? I KNOW. SHAKE ! 

young western millionaire who's been urging me to — 
to — elope with him ? 

Ned. What! 

Uncle John (to Ned). So you're jealous, too, are 
you? 

Ned. I can't stand this. (Rushes out door, l.) 

Alice. I can't, either. 

(Rushes out door, l., in pursuit of Ned.) 

Aunt Abigail (calls after her). Come back here 
this instant. You shan't speak to that creature again. 

Uncle John Oh, shucks. Your bluff won't work. 
I'm going to finish your little game. 

Aunt Abigail. Well, of all the nerve. The idea 
of your nephew's presumption in aspiring to the hand 
of my niece. 

Uncle John. What do you think of that! Now 
that you're losing out, you'll change your game, eh? 
That's a good joke, my nephew's presuming to ask the 
hand of your niece. Ha, ha, ha. If somebody doesn't 
hold my sides, I'll laugh until I burst. Ha, ha, 

Ned (enters l., and advances to r. a, followed by 
Alice, who stands at l. c). I tell you, I w r on't stand 
for it. 

Alice. But I tell you, there wasn't a thing to it. 

Aunt Abigail (crosses to left of Alice). Look 
here, young lady, what do you mean by speaking in a 
pleading tone to that wretch? 

Alice (wildly). Oh, I don't know what I mean by 
anything any more. (Rushes out door, l.) 

Aunt Abigail. Don't think you'll give me the slip 
that way. (Rushes after Alice.) 

Uncle John. I think I need a little fresh air, my- 
self. (Advances to costumer and takes hat.) I'll be 
back after you very shortly. 

(Exit, r.) 

Ned (suddenly brightening) . I believe I'll tell him. 
(Goes to door, r., and calls.) Uncle John, Uncle John. 
Uncle John (outside). What do you want? 



YOU KNOW? I KNOW. SHAKE ! 17 

Ned. Come back a minute. I have something to 
tell you. 

Uncle John (enters, r.). Go ahead. 

Ned (leads Uncle John down-stage, a). Uncle 
John, how'd you like to get even with that old woman 
for saying such mean things about you? 

Uncle John (eagerly). By George, I'd give any- 
thing to do that. 

Ned. Then I'll tell you all about it. She isn't what 
you think she is at all. She's Miss Abigail Walton, 
called the wealthiest woman of the wealthy west. 

Uncle John. She is? 

Ned. Yes ; and that young woman is her niece. 

Uncle John. What? And a model? 

Ned. Of course not. She isn't a model at all. 
Give me a chance to explain. You see, she has her 
own ideas about selecting a husband. So has her aunt. 
The aunt has a man picked out for her niece, and 
thinks she will marry him. 

Uncle John. Well? 

Ned. But she won't. 

Uncle John. Why not? 

Ned. Because she's already married to another 
man, and I'm helping her keep the marriage a secret 
from her aunt. 

Uncle John. And the old woman, who thinks her 
niece is going to marry the man she has picked out, 
doesn't know she's already married? 

Ned. That's it exactly. 

Uncle John. Ha, ha, ha. Say, that's a good one. 
By George, I like to see these old codgers get slipped 
up when they try to make matches. But who's the 
lucky fellow? Who's the girl's husband? 

Ned. I am. 

Uncle John (angrily). What! Why, you con- 
founded young reprobate, you won't get (Stops 

abruptly, and a smile slowly overspreads his face.) 
Say, the old woman isn't the only one the joke is on, 
is she? 

Ned (joyously). Then you'll forgive me? 



1 8 YOU KNOW ? I KNOW. SHAKE ! 

Uncle John. Sure. I went into the trap head- 
first, didn't I ? 

Ned. You're a brick, Uncle John. But listen just 
a minute more. For the sake of my wife, help us 
keep Aunt Abigail in the dark. I'm supposed to be 
the butler while she's around. You'll play the part of 
the butler's uncle a little while, won't you — to keep up 
the joke? 

Uncle John. Sure I will, {Nudges him in ribs.) 
to keep up the joke. Come on; let's get outside and 
plan what we're going to do. Since you caught me so 
easily, I'll be a good sport and help out. 

(They exit, r., and the door is no sooner closed than 
Alice, sobbing, enters, l. She crosses to settee and 
sits.) 

Alice. I just can't stand that horrid old Uncle 
John any longer. And Aunt Abigail thinks I'm dis- 
graced forever. There's just one thing left, and that's 
to tell Aunt Abigail. And I'm going to do it right 
now. 

(Rises and starts toward door, l., just as Aunt Abi- 
gail enters, l.) 

Aunt Abigail. Young lady, what's the matter? 
You look as if you actually had been crying merely 
because I told you to discharge that wretched butler 
with the unmentionable old uncle. 

Alice. Aunt Abigail, you don't understand. Come 
and sit down over here while I explain everything. 

(They sit upon the settee, Aunt Abigail at the left, 
Alice at the right.) 

Aunt Abigail. I think it's about time. 

Alice. First of all, the young man I said was the 
butler isn't the butler at all. 

Aunt Abigail (horrified) . What ! 

Alice. He's Ned Newcome, the artist whose pic- 
tures recentlv made such a hit in London. 



YOU KNOW ? I KNOW. SHAKE ! 19 

Aunt Abigail. Merciful heavens, Alice, this is 
outrageous. To think of your permitting an artist to 
come here when you are unchaperoned. I shall faint, 
I know I shall. 

Alice. I tell you there isn't anything improper 
about his coming here. 

Aunt Abigail {stiffly). And why not, pray tell? 

Alice. Because — because — he's my husband. 

Aunt Abigail. What ! 

Alice. We've been married almost a month, but 
we haven't told any of our friends. 

Aunt Abigail. Why not? 

Alice. Well, you see, Ned's uncle, that mean old — 
old — thing who's been here this morning, threatened to 
disinherit Ned if he didn't marry the girl he had picked 
out. That's why we married secretly and didn't tell 
anyone. 

Aunt Abigail. Did that insulting old wretch of an 
uncle dare to object to you? 

Alice. Yes. 

Aunt Abigail. Does he know yet that you're mar- 
ried? 

Alice. No, and we're afraid he'll find it out. We 
agreed that I'd play I was Ned's model, so Uncle John 
wouldn't be suspicious, but that only made things 
worse. 

Aunt Abigail. Just leave me with him a few min- 
utes again. I'll tell him a few things that will 

Alice. Oh, mercy, no, Aunt Abigail. That would 
ruin everything. Uncle John mustn't find out now. 
We want to let him find out gradually, so he won't be 
so mad all at once. 

Aunt Abigail. Why didn't you confide in me? 

Alice. Well, you see 

Aunt Abigail. Yes, I see. But it's too late to fuss 
now. You certainly pulled the wool over my eyes, but 
I don't care — as long as that silly old uncle is playing 
the fool. 

Alice. Then you'll help us fool Uncle John? 

Aunt Abigail. Certainly. 



20 YOU KNOW ? I KNOW. SHAKE ! 

Alice. And you won't mind playing the part of a 
model's aunt while he's around? 

Aunt Abigail. Not in the slightest, since it shows 
what a worthless old chump he is. 

Alice. They'll probably be back in a few minutes. 
You remain here, and I'll go see about the lunch. Re- 
member you promised to help me, and pretend to be a 
model's aunt. 

Aunt Abigail. You can trust me. I never thought 
I could stretch my conscience enough to play the part 
of a model's aunt, but I'll do my best. 

(Alice exits, l.) 

Ned (outside, r.). I think you'll find her a good 
cook, all right. 

(As Ned and Uncle John enter, r., Aunt Abigail 
crosses to l. c.) 

Uncle John. I hope so. 

Ned. Where is Miss Westcott? 

Aunt Abigail (courtesying). She's gone to get 
some lunch, sir. 

Ned (after gazing a moment in perplexity at Aunt 
Abigail). I would like to see her a moment. 

(Exits, l.) 

(After Ned exits, Uncle John, r. c, and Aunt Abi- 
gail, l. c, stand a few moments, each looking down- 
stage. Then Uncle John faces Aunt Abigail. 
She ignores him. He then faces down-stage again, 
and Aunt Abigail surveys him contemptuously.) 

Uncle John. It's a fine day, ma'am. 

Aunt Abigail (courtesying). So it is, sir. 
(Uncle John surveys Aunt Abigail a moment, 
smiling behind his hand, but again faces down-stage 
when she suddenly turns toward him. Aunt Abigail 
surveys Uncle John, and smiles behind her hand, 
after which she again faces down-stage a moment. 



YOU KNOW? I KNOW. SHAKE ! 21 

Aunt Abigail turns fiercely on Uncle John.) You 

— you (Suddenly recalls, and hurriedly exits, l.) 

Uncle John (takes a step or two after her). You 
— you (Suddenly recalls and exits, r.) 

(As Uncle John exits, Ned and Alice enter, l., and 
advance to c. ; he at r., she at l.) 

Ned. Do you know, dear, I believe Uncle John will 
come around all right. If it were not for Aunt Abi- 
gail ! 

Alice. How odd. I've felt just the opposite. I'm 
sure Aunt Abigail won't be very angry, but I'm aw- 
fully afraid of Uncle John. (They embrace.) 

(Aunt Abigail, l., and Uncle John, r., enter simul- 
taneously. Ned and Alice separate.) 

Aunt Abigail (at left of Alice). Niece, niece, 
aren't you ashamed of yourself to allow a young man 
to take you in his arms — even if he is a young artist? 

Uncle John (at right of Ned). You good-for- 
nothing scamp, don't you know better than to make 
love to your mistress, and you a mere good-for-nothing 
butler ? 

Aunt Abigail (courtesying). Beg pardon, sir; 
you must be mistaken, sir. 

Uncle John (homing). Beg pardon, ma'am; Fm 
not, ma'am. 

Aunt Abigail (points to Ned). He's not the but- 
ler, sir. 

Uncle John. He is the butler, ma'am. (Angrily.) 
But he wouldn't be, if you weren't so confounded stub- 
born. 

Aunt Abigail. I'm not stubborn. It's you that's 
stubborn. 

Alice. We're lost. 

Ned. Maybe not. I've told Uncle John. 

Alice. And I've told Aunt Abigail. 

Uncle John (to Aunt Abigail), You know? 



2 2 YOU KNOW? I KNOW. SHAKE ! 

Aunt Abigail. I know. 

Uncle John (extends hand). Shake! 

(Uncle John and Aunt Abigail shake hands in 
front of Ned and Alice, who embrace.) 



curtain 



Unusually Good Entertainments 

Read One or More of These Before Deciding on 
Your Next Program 

GRADUATION DAY AT WOOD HILL SCHOOL. 

An Entertainment in Two Acts, by Ward Macauley. For six 
males and four females, with several minor parts. Time of 
playing, two hours. Modern costumes. Simple interior scenes 4 
may be presented in a hall without scenery. The unusual com* 
bination of a real "entertainment," including music, recitations, 
etc., with an interesting love story. The graduation exercises 
include short speeches, recitations, songs, funny interruptions, 
and a comical speech by a country school trustee. 

EXAMINATION DAY AT WOOD HILL SCHOOL. 

An Entertainment in One Act, by Ward Macauley. Eight maU 
and six female characters, with minor parts. Plays one hour. 
Scene, an easy interior, or may be given without scenery. Cos- 
tumes, modern. Miss Marks, the teacher, refuses to marry a 
trustee, who threatens to discharge her. The examination in- 
cludes recitations and songs, and brings out many funny answers 
to questions. At the close Robert Coleman, an old lover, claims 
the teacher. Very easy and very effective. 

BACK TO THE COUNTRY STORE. A Rural Enter- 
tainment in Three Acts, by Ward Macauley. For four male 
and five female characters, with some supers. Time, two hours. 
Two scenes, both eas^r interiors. Can be played effectively with- 
out scenery. Costumes, modern. All the principal parts are 
sure hits. Quigley Higginbotham, known as "Quig," a clerk in 
a country store, aspires to be a great author or singer and 
decides to try his fortunes in New York. The last scene is in 
Quig's home. He returns a failure but is offered a partnership 
in the country store. He pops the question in the midst of a 
surprise party given in his honor. Easy to do and very funny. 

THE DISTRICT CONVENTION. A Farcical Sketch 
in One Act, by Frank Dumont. For eleven males and one 
female, or twelve males. Any number of other parts or super- 
numeraries may be added. Plays forty-five minutes. No special 
scenery is required, and the costumes and properties are all 
easy. The play shows an uproarious political nominating con- 
vention. The climax comes when a woman's rights cham- 
pion, captures th* convention. There is a great chance to bur- 
lesque modern politics and to work in local gags. Every 
part will make a hit. 

SI SLOCUM'S COUNTRY STORE. An Entertainment 
in One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eleven male and five female 
characters with supernumeraries. Several parts may be doubled. 
Plays one hour. Interior scene, or may be played without set 
scenery. Costumes, modern. The rehearsal for an entertain- 
ment in the village church gives plenty of opportunity for 
specialty work. A very jolly entertainment of the sort adapted 
to almost any place or occasion. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
■»HlLA^>clPHIA 



Unusually Good Entertainments 

Read One or More of These Before Deciding on 
Your Next Program 

A SURPRISE PARTY AT BRINKLEY'Sc An En- 

tertainment in One Scene, by Ward Macauley. Seven male and 
seven female characters. Interior scene, or may be given with- 
out scenery. Costumes, modern. Time, one hour. By the 
author of the popular successes, "Graduation Day at Wood Hill 
School," "Back to the Country Store," etc. The villagers have 
planned a birthday surprise party for Mary Brinkley, recently 
graduated from college. They all join in jolly games, songs 
Conundrums, etc., and Mary becomes engaged, which surprises 
the surprisers. The entertainment is a sure success. 

JONES VS. JINKS. A Mock Trial in One Act, by 
Edward Mumford. Fifteen male and six female characters, with 
supernumeraries if desired. May be played all male. Many of the 
parts (members of the jury, etc.) are small. Scene, a simple 
interior ; may be played without scenery. Costumes, modern. 
Time of playing, one hour. This mock trial has many novel 
features, unusual characters and quick action. Nearly every 
character has a funny entrance and laughable lines. There are 
many rich parts, and fast fun throughout. 

THE SIGHT-SEEING CAR. A Comed> Sketch in One 
Act, by Ernest M. Gould. For seven males, t,vo females, or 
may be all male. Parts may be doubled, with quick changes, so 
that four persons may play the sketch. Time, forty-five minutes. 
Simple street scene. Costumes, modern. The superintendent 
of a sight-seeing automobile engages two men. to run the 
machine. A Jew, a farmer, a fat lady and other humorous 
characters give them all kinds of trouble. This is a regular gat- 
ling-gun stream of rollicking repartee. 

THE CASE OF SMYTHE VS. SMITH. An Original 
Mock Trial in One Act, by Frank Dumont. Eighteen males 
and two females, or may be all male. Plays about one hour. 
Scene, a county courtroom ; requires no scenery ; may be played 
in an ordinary hall. Costumes, modern. This entertainment is 
nearly perfect of its kind, and a sure success. It can be easily 
produced in any place or on any occasion, and provides almost 
any number of good parts. 

THE OLD MAIDS' ASSOCIATION. A Farcical Enter- 
tainment in One Act, by Louise Latham Wilson. For thirteen 
females and one male. The male part may be played by a 
female, and the number of characters increased to twenty or 
more. Time, forty minutes. The play requires neither scenery 
nor properties, and very little in the way of costumes. Can 
easily be prepared in one or two rehearsals. 

• BARGAIN DAY AT BLOOMSTEIN'S. A Farcical 
Entertainment in One Act, by Edward Mumford. For five males 
and ten females, with supers. Interior scene. Costumes, mod- 
ern. Time, thirty minutes. The characters and the situations 
which arise from their endeavors to buy and sell make rapid-fire 
fun from start to finish. 

THF "»ENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
«*H1LAPSLPHE* 



Successful Plays for All Girls 

In Selecting Your Next Play Do Not Overlook This List 

YOUNG DOCTOR DEVINE. A Farce in Two Acts, 
by Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. One of the most popular 
plays for girls. For nine female characters. Time in 
playing, thirty minutes. Scenery, ordinary interior. Mod- 
ern costumes. Girls in a boarding-school, learning that a 
young doctor is coming to vaccinate all the pupils, eagerly con- 
sult each other as to the manner of fascinating the physician. 
When the doctor appears upon the scene the pupils discover that 
the physician is a female practitioner. 

SISTER MASONS. A Burlesque in One Act, by Frank 
Dumont. For eleven females. Time, thirty minutes. Costumes, 
fantastic gowns, or dominoes. Scene, interior. A grand expose 
of Masonry. Some women profess to learn the secrets of a 
Masonic lodge by hearing their husbands talk in their sleep, 
and they institute a similar organization. 

A COMMANDING POSITION. A Farcical Enter- 
tainment, by Amelia Sanford. For seven female char- 
acters and ten or more other ladies and children. Time, one 
hour. Costumes, modern. Scenes, easy interiors and one street 
scene. Marian Young gets tired living with her aunt, Miss 
Skinflint. She decides to "attain a commanding position." 
Marian tries hospital nursing, college settlement work and 
school teaching, but decides to go back to housework. 

HOW A WOMAN KEEPS A SECRET. A Comedy 
in One Act, by Frank Dumont. For ten female characters. 
Time, half an hour. Scene, an easy interior. Costumes, modern. 
Mabel Sweetly has just become engaged to Harold, but it's "the 
deepest kind of a secret." Before announcing it they must win 
the approval of Harold's uncle, now in Europe, or lose a possible 
ten thousand a year. At a tea Mabel meets her dearest friend. 
Maude sees Mabel has a secret, she coaxes and Mabel tells her. 
But Maude lets out the secret in a few minutes to another 
friend and so the secret travels. 

THE OXFORD AFFAIR. A Comedy in Three Acts, 
by Josephine H. Cobb and Jennie E. Paine. For eight female 
characters. Plays one hour and three-quarters. Scenes, inter- 
iors at a seaside hotel. Costumes, modern. The action of the 
play is located at a summer resort. Alice Graham, in order to 
chaperon herself, poses as a widow, and Miss Oxford first claims 
her as a sister-in-law, then denounces her. The onerous duties 
of Miss Oxford, who attempts to serve as chaperon to Miss 
Howe and Miss Ashton in the face of many obstacles, furnish 
an evening of rare enjoyment. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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